Tell Me What's Going On
by clemonlime
Summary: Prompt: Hotch is cruel to Reid and breaks off their relationship because someone threatens to get revenge on him by killing Reid. So rather than lose the love of his life, Hotch crushes Reid and his self-esteem by destroying their relationship in the hopes that Reid will be so hurt that he falls out of love. BUT I DIDN'T EXACTLY WANT THAT TO HAPPEN so here's a happier version.


Hotch pulled into the driveway of his home, running through his script over and over in his head like a mantra and it all felt like he was being smothered. This was a familiar feeling, he'd felt it a few times, but it had been quite awhile. The last time was in a hospital bed, though, not in the comfort of his car and certainly, _certainly_ not while he was thinking of Reid. Somehow he thought, maybe, he'd dodged the worst in his life and now he'd have a perfect, drama-free life with his partner and his son.

The news came a week earlier in the form of an anonymous text from an untraceable cell phone reading: _I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize._

At first, he didn't think anything of it. A strange, but random text; those happened all the time, he tried to tell himself. But he worked in the FBI, and coincidences were rare. Before he hit delete, he stared at the sentence, looking for some ulterior meaning or code that perhaps Reid could crack. But before he could leave his office to call for him, he remembered exactly who had said those words years earlier, and his heart stopped dead in his chest.

George Foyet. But he was dead, Hotch tried to reason with himself, still standing in the middle of his office with his phone clutched in one hand and his heart in the other. Then again, he had followers.

This begun a complicated thinking process. He started by self-deprecating and telling himself he shouldn't have even tried to be in another relationship, this slowly turned into terrible nightmares about finding Reid dead on the floor and possibly Jack would be there with him, this time around. The nightmares broke him, truly, and he knew he had to save Reid. He knew in advance, and the last time he didn't do anything, he lost the person he loved. Not this time.

Hotch couldn't just drop him in the dust, though. He loved him too much, and he didn't think he could carry through with Reid still in love with him while they worked together. Then the plotting began. The scripting of everything he'd say in less than an hour to ruin Reid's perception of him and cause him to fall out of love or at least something to that effect. Attack his weaknesses and what not. He was good at that, too, since it was what he did for money on a daily basis.

So there he was. In the driveway, looking up at their bedroom window to see shadows moving. It was too late for Jack to be up, so Reid must have just been pacing around while he was reading. Hotch couldn't bring himself to smile.

When he walked in the door, he wondered if he could hold off on it. He wanted nothing less than to just tug Reid by his tie and just hold him until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. But this was a matter of life and death, and Reid needed to be as far from Hotch as possible soon.

It took him twice as long to go up the stairs, lingering on each step, but eventually, he was in the doorway and Reid was enthralled in his book, walking the boundary of his favorite rug at the foot of the bed and mumbling under his breath. Hotch just stood, trying to make his face look as annoying and rude as possible.

When Reid finally looked up, a warm smile washed over his face and he began to walk over, "Hey, Aaron."

"Shut up, Reid."

Reid's eyebrows shot up and he closed his book, "Bad day?"

Hotch just sent him a glare and began to shed his coat, "Are you as high as you look?"

The younger man set his book on the nearest surface and just stared at him, a look of amusement on his face, "Aaron, I haven't seen you act like this since Philip Dowd. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm trying to tell you to get out," Hotch answered honestly, tinting his voice with annoyance.

Reid nodded slowly, running his tongue over his teeth in order to try and analyze the situation, "My love, in all due respect, I'm going to stay right here so you have someone to aggravate the hangover you'll have in the morning."

"I'm not drunk, Reid."

"You're not calling me Spencer, so something's wrong," Reid said, taking slow steps toward the tense man in the doorway.

"The fact that you're still in my house is what's wrong," Hotch snapped.

Reid was smiling, but his eyes were tight around the edges, "For a grown man, you really can stoop low when you're in need of a drink."

"Get out."

"I don't get a please?"

"I'm not kidding anymore, this is done, get out of my house."

" _Your_ house? No regard for Jack in there?"

"Don't you dare-"

"You started this and I need you to finish it. Aaron, I need you to tell me what's going through your mind so I can help."

"I want you gone."

Reid shook his head, finally standing directly in front of Hotch. He frowned and slid his hands around the back of Hotch's neck, "Aaron."

"God damn it, Reid, I'm _breaking up with you_!" Hotch shouted, his throat hoarse and disgusted at the fact that those words were ones he knew he'd have to say for days, now. They tasted bitter on his tongue, and he just let it hang on a clothesline from his mouth to Reid's ear, and time stopped.

Reid blinked and nodded, "Alright."

Hotch just looked at him. Reid wasn't crying, and he didn't seem as though he was planning on yelling, "What?"

"I said, alright," Reid repeated slowly, backing away from the tension and gathering his coat from where it was draped over the arm of his reading chair as well as a few books that rested on the nightstand. His clothes and belongings were all upstairs, but Hotch knew he wouldn't try to get everything right at that moment. "I'll see you at work."

"Woah, what?" Hotch felt completely confused; had he said any of those terrible things out loud or had he just thought them? Because Reid was way too calm to have heard any of it.

Reid mirrored his confusion, "I figure you need some time alone to think about how you're going to tell me the truth."

Hotch shook his head, "You're being very calm."

"One of us has to be, in this situation," he replied, "Last week we were dancing around the possibility of an engagement, and the next day you started distancing yourself. Something happened and you're not telling me about it."

Hotch grimaced, and Reid knew he was right.

"So," Reid placed his hastily gathered belongings on the floor by his feet and cautiously padded over to Hotch, taking his hand, "Tell me."

"I can't."

"You can," Reid offered, "If it's really that bad, I'll let you break up with me, but I think you need me more than ever right now."

Hotch's hand moved without his prompting, fishing his phone from his pocket and holding it blindly in front of him. Reid slowly took it into his hands, unlocked it, and immediately looked into his texts because it couldn't have been anything else.

Reid stared at the screen for a long time before looking to Hotch, "I don't understand the context."

"George Foyet."

"Oh," Reid made a face edging on disgust, as he turned the phone off and let his arm dangle by his side, "One of his fanatics?"

"I believe so," Hotch said quietly, looking at his feet.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Reid was in front of him again, close and gentle, looking into his eyes, "I'm not leaving."

"You have to," Hotch said sadly.

"I don't, really, and do you want to know why that is?" Reid didn't wait for an answer, "Because I'm an FBI agent. I'm licensed to carry and to kill, and as soon as I was in danger I'd know how to get out of it. I promise you that."

Hotch hadn't thought of that, "Oh."

"I understand your panic, my love, but this isn't the same situation as last time," he said quietly, bringing his hand to frame Hotch's face, "Believe me when I say that your reaction isn't without merit. I'm happy that you care for me and for Jack, but this is not the way to go about it. They'd find me with or without your involvement. Just because you break up with me doesn't mean you automatically hate me. I know that. They know that."

Hotch just nodded like a child that had broken a vase, leaning into Reid's touch and frowning. "I'd do anything to protect you."

"Breaking up with me wouldn't protect me, babe."

"I didn't..."

"I'm here until, by some miracle, you stop loving me. No dumbass threats or near death experiences can take me away from you," Reid kissed his cheek and sighed. "Sometimes I think I know you better than you know you."

"That's entirely possible," Hotch murmured, wrapping his arms around Reid and pulling him close, "I'm sorry."

"No need to be, Aaron. It's a damn good thing I recognize an internal battle when I see one," he mumbled into Hotch's ear as they swayed against each other in their doorway, a serene and almost subconscious slow dance, "because I was close to slapping you."

"I would have deserved it," Hotch replied with a smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," Reid pulled away just enough so that he could look at his partner. "A lot."

"A lot," Hotch repeated, his grin widening as he held Reid even closer. "If I ever try to do that again, talk me out of it."

"My specialty."


End file.
